


it was the start of our story

by hecckyeah



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BBGFS - Freeform, Baby Fitzsimmons, Diverges after 7x11 pretty much, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Oh and Alya's name is different but I might change that, Perthshire Cottage (Marvel), Post-S7, SHIELD, Written right before the finale so I'm very sorry for the non-canon-compliance, bbg fs - Freeform, seriously just a lot of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25818139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hecckyeah/pseuds/hecckyeah
Summary: "Daisy had completely forgotten what it felt like to just take a few deep breaths. For the past seven years of her life, she had been constantly in motion. Either she was fighting robots and aliens, training with May, running from SHIELD, trying to save SHIELD, traveling through space, traveling through time . . . And her little living room now felt way, way too quiet.".Or: The team takes on the hardest, longest, most challenging mission of their whole careers . . . Domestic life.(Alternate Universe now that the finale is out! Canon divergence after 7x11)
Relationships: Alphonso "Mack" Mackenzie & Yo Yo Roderiguez, Alphonso "Mack" Mackenzie/Yo Yo Rodriguez, Leo Fitz & Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons, Skye | Daisy Johnson & Daniel Sousa, Skye | Daisy Johnson/Daniel Sousa
Comments: 5
Kudos: 139





	1. it's not the end

**Author's Note:**

> Guess what I was able to crank out in roughly 24 hours? Another drabble, this time twice as long!
> 
> This is a precursor to my other work, "suddenly knew (i had changed)," which can be a standalone OR fits in here, four months after the end of this first chapter. And stay tuned for a series! I'd like different chapters to focus on different POVs, relationships, and other random hijinks the team finds themselves in, because let's be honest here. Trouble and chaos really follow them, am I right? (But in my world, that doesn't mean danger. It just means babysitting gone wrong, failed attempts at horseriding, and letting your partner watch one too many episodes of Friends . . .)
> 
> ***The prologue (the first section, before the asterisks) was written by the wonderful, talented @ohifonlyx33, and the entire series was inspired by her. <3
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

.

“Think about it: the Chronicoms will never expect it. They’ve been fighting us the whole time because we’ve stood in their way. They have predicted our resistance.”

Coulson chimes in, “If we disappear, so do they.”

Daisy looks at Fitz incredulously, “So you’re saying-”

Fitz nods, “We have to just give up-”

Jemma finishes for her husband, hugging her sleepy daughter close to her heart, “And just live normal lives.”

“We can’t just stop-”

“But we can, Daisy.” Jemma cuts in. Her tone makes it clear the child in her arms is proof. She and Fitz have done it before.

“We’ve repaired the damaged done to the timeline–” Fitz looks at Sousa who is very much still alive and then at his  anomaly of an adult grandson from the future who is also alive – “ Well, most of it anyway.”

Mack smiles. He understands where this is going. “If we want to preserve the timeline from this point on, we have to stop making ripples.” He looks at Daisy, recalling their previous conversation, “No more missions. That’s the mission.”

“But- But what- How do we- The Chronicoms are _ after us _ because we are the shield protecting the world from them. Without us they win.”

May has been thinking about it this whole time and she seems to follow. “It’s tactical. There’s nothing we can do, so we wait passively until we throw them off the attack. Then when they strike-”

Elena jumps in. “We’ll be there ready and waiting for them. I like it.”

“Not exactly” Fitz starts.

Jemma picks up for him, “We can’t expect to be ready for them. We have to step back and trust that SHIELD will be there ready for them. Without us. Our involvement will only ensure their victory.”

Sousa crosses his arms, “So what’s the plan?”

Fitz pulls out a card from his wallet “I did some research on property locations and found a few realtors. We live in Perthshire,”

“That’s in Scotland-” Jemma grins at Fitz who throws her a lopsided smile.

“-and there’s quite a few properties nearby, if you’d like to stay close. You can stay with us until you find a place-”

“–Oh, and Deke of course has a permanent room with us, if he wants it. Regardless of the face Fitz is making, he agrees wholeheartedly. And any of you are always welcome to visit as long as you want.”

**

**

Finding houses wasn’t the hard part. 

The Scottish countryside was ripe with tiny cottages and quaint farmhouses to choose from. The realtor worked swiftly and efficiently, pulled a few strings, and in no time four keys were procured, four documents were signed, and four properties in beautiful Perthshire were decorated with big “SOLD” signs. 

The hard part was blending in, settling down, and finally relaxing.

Daisy had completely forgotten what it felt like to just take a few deep breaths. For the past seven years of her life, she had been constantly in motion. Either she was fighting robots and aliens, training with May, running from SHIELD, trying to save SHIELD, traveling through space, traveling through time . . . And her little living room now felt way, way too quiet.

She breathed a heavy sigh and leaned forward to rest her chin on her hands. A few cars drove by her windows, and the leaves rustled.

“You know,” she said, “I don’t think the domestic life is for me.” 

Daisy could almost feel Elena's eyes roll from behind her. 

Setting her paintbrush down, Yo-Yo walked around the couch and sat on the floor in front of Daisy, leaning against the bare white wall. “If you’re not going to help me paint your own house, you can keep your melancholy comments to yourself.”

Daisy smirked at the twinkle in her friend’s eye. Yo-Yo had discovered a love of painting, of all things. She said it reminded her of being a small child, painting elaborate pictures with her cousin. And utilizing her inhuman gift came in handy, too.

“I’m serious,” Daisy continued. “I’ve never . . .” She felt a weight settle on her chest, and she stared at her hands. “I’ve never  _ lived _ anywhere. This is the first . . . place I’ve had. Just me. I just--” She took another breath. “I just know I’ve been missing out on so much, and I don’t know how to live like a normal person.”

Elena raised her eyebrows, but smiled gently. “Well, you get to learn now. You don't have to know everything right away. Things take time, just let yourself relax for a while."

“I know, I just--”

She was cut short by a screech from right outside the window.

Daisy jumped up from the couch.

Giggles erupted from the screaming, and a deeper voice joined the laughter. “You think you’re so smart, hiding under there--”

Her hands pressed up against the window pane. And the sight that met her eyes, she swore would never get old.

Across the yard, a little figure bolted from tree to tree, white-blonde hair flying in the wind, cheeks all dimpled as she screamed and laughed and zig-zagged to escape her dad.

“What I want to know,” Daisy said, smirking, “is how Fitzsimmons managed to make something  _ that cute.” _

Yo-Yo laughed. 

A few minutes later, the door burst open with a gust of wind and laughter and orange leaves. 

Fitz swung his daughter up, around, and plopped her into Elena’s open lap. And with a resounding  _ sigh, _ he collapsed onto the couch. 

The little girl scrambled up and bolted toward the front door again—

Daisy intercepted the speeding child and scooped her up before she could smear her hands all over the wet paint on the wall, laughing as she squirmed, the girl’s energy never-ending.

This was surreal. Daisy had only known this tiny person for three months, and yet . . . it felt like she had always known her. She was such a perfect mix of her parents. She had the mischievous glint to go along with her father’s striking blue eyes, her joyous smile was a carbon copy of Jemma’s, and when Deke had asked about her white-blonde hair, Fitz pulled out a picture of himself at the same age . . . with the same adorable towhead. 

The front door burst open again, and Deke’s scruffy head poked through. “Hello?”

“Deke!” Fitz scolded. “Maybe knock first."

Deke ignored his grandfather. “Have any of you guys seen—”

Little Celeste Fitz-Simmons interrupted with a heartfelt, “Uncle Deke!” and continued to squirm out of Daisy’s grasp. 

“Oh, there she is.” The proud uncle (son? nephew?) grinned and held out his arms to welcome her. “Your mom was looking for you.”

That was one very-loved child, Daisy noticed. Her four uncles and three aunts were constantly doting on her, not to mention her father, who seemed to never let her out of his sight. Fitz and  Cece were inseparable, always working on home improvement projects together, reading books, or napping together when  Cece could manage to slow down for a few minutes. It made Daisy wonder why she had never thought of Fitzsimmons as parents before.  Of course she knew that they had been, in a different timeline (a different lifetime entirely), but the day-to-day domesticity never occurred to her. Now it was glaringly obvious how naturally they had taken to having a child. Daisy wasn’t shocked, but the first time they had told her . . . That had taken her a bit by surprise.

“By the way, I’m supposed to tell you guys,” Deke said, “there’s a quick meeting with the Director at five, in Mack’s shed.”

**

“So then, Logan tells me—” Deke leaned forward, gearing up for the punchline, “He says, ‘You can’t even eat the mushrooms!’”

Fitz’s fork  _ clanked _ onto his plate as he raised an eyebrow. 

Mack coughed quietly.

A cricket chirped from behind the wall.

“You know,  _ mushrooms,”  _ Deke explained, only exacerbating the situation. “It’s like—” He stopped. “Oh, forget it. It was a great joke, always a hit with the band.”

Jemma smiled gently. “I’m sure it is,” she reassured her grandson, amazingly not even a hint of sarcasm present. 

Daisy couldn’t help but laugh silently, covering her mouth with her hands. She prayed Deke didn’t see her. Something bumped her foot sharply, and she glanced to her left, where Sousa gave her a pointed, disapproving glare. She raised her eyebrows at him and shrugged. 

He cleared his throat. “Thank you for dinner, Jemma—and Daisy—it was delicious,” Daniel said.

Everyone around the table added their agreements, and the process began of gathering dishes, pulling back chairs, avoiding little  Cece’s tiny feet as she wove between the adults.

Dinners together had become a weekly Thursday-night tradition for the team, which Daisy could not have been more grateful for. It kept a sense of normalcy between all of them, while also instilling those domestic day-to-day habits that she still lacked, even after four months of living this new life. More often than not, she helped Jemma cook when it was the Fitz-Simmons' turn to host, and she was slowly learning some tips and tricks from her friends.  _ Baby steps,  _ she had to tell herself. Like Elena reminded her last month, she just needed time. She didn’t have to know everything right away.

“Looks like it’s someone’s bedtime,” Daisy heard Fitz say in the distance as he hauled his daughter off the floor. Daisy couldn’t help but smile at the sight. 

On the other side of the room, Jemma was grasping Elena’s hand, exclaiming something while swinging her hand around like a schoolgirl. Yo-Yo grinned from ear to ear. 

Mack had his back strategically turned to Deke, attempting to pull his shoes on, while the younger man gestured at something on his phone’s screen. 

A hand rested on her elbow. “Walk you home?” 

Daisy turned, smiling, and intertwined her hand with Daniel’s. “Ready to leave already?”

“I’m always ready for a walk with a pretty girl,” he countered.

She was pretty sure she blushed. “Good answer, Danny boy.” 

He laughed, and they made their hasty escape before anyone could protest.

The cool evening breeze swept through Daisy’s hair as soon as they stepped off the porch. It was a welcome break from the usual stiflingly humid air, and Daisy took a deep, refreshing breath. 

She could hear the distant croaking of frogs in the loch, and the gentle rustling of leaves above her . . . combined with the vague screaming of a feisty toddler inside.

They started across the  lawn, hands clasped.

“Do you ever miss it?” she asked. 

He took a careful step across a hole in the yard and glanced sideways. “What?”

They walked slowly, neither in a hurry to let the evening go. 

“Nineteen fifty-five. The SSR. SHIELD. Field work. I don’t know, just . . . your old life?”

Daniel exhaled through his nose and didn’t answer for a few moments. 

“I guess . . .” he finally said, “I can’t say I don’t. I do think about it sometimes. But you guys . . . the team feels like my team now. Seems strange it was only four months ago I met you all.”

“Feels like a lifetime,” Daisy finished, and Daniel nodded. 

“It does help that we’re still doing SHIELD work,” he added, “and this place feels more familiar than—” he visibly cringed, “—Los Angeles.”

That had been an interesting trip. Before they officially moved to Scotland, Sousa had wanted to check up on his old stomping grounds, poke around a few bars, and see if his old SSR/SHIELD office was still running. 

Of course, nothing was like it had been. His discouragement had been palpable, and Daisy had gotten the sense that the reality of what happened to him was finally settling in. Just like Deke having a small crisis when he was zapped seventy years into the past, Daniel was coming to grips with being a dead man.  _ Life after death _ indeed. 

But he had come a long way since then. There was a lot to think about in their little town, surprisingly, and their days were blessedly full. They had their friends, they had little Celeste, and they kept their ties with SHIELD. Elena was the one who kept tabs on communications most of the time, and she also made the occasional recruiting trip around Europe. Mack’s mechanic shed would eventually double as a training facility, for whichever brave young agent wanted to hone his/her skills with the legends of SHIELD. 

The team also kept tabs on the  Chronicoms and their activity on Earth. Their disappearance had gone hand-in-hand with the team’s, which had been exactly the plan. Everything was working out so far, and Daisy had to check herself now and then, because things were almost . . . too good. 

They were off the radar, finally relaxed and settled into new homes, and she had her family with her . . . Not to mention the new whirlwind of a relationship she had happened upon four months ago.

Daisy looked up as they walked, and noticed the moonlight glinting off Daniel’s jawline. The light caught the little patch of gray at his temples, and enhanced the few laugh lines by his mouth. 

“Well,” she said, her breath catching in her throat. “I’m really . . . really glad you stayed here. With us.” She swallowed and hoped he picked up on the implied,  _ with me _ .

Daniel stopped walking and tugged at her hand to bring her closer. He smiled. “So am I.”

As they kissed under the starlit sky, Daisy wondered how her life had gone from feeling like a constant race against evil . . . a constant nightmare . . . To feeling almost (almost) like a damn fairytale.

.

.


	2. listen, little lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What on this great green earth had Deke gotten himself into? This was way, way beyond him. Sure, he had spent lots of time with his little niece (aunt? mother?), but always with someone more experienced, and more—uh . . . —emotionally available. His amount of babysitting experience could be tallied up to a solid zero. 
> 
> He was going to need backup."
> 
> Two SHIELD legends . . . babysitting the child of two more SHIELD legends.   
> A.k.a. Deke and Sousa versus Baby Fitzsimmons. Who will win?

.

.

In retrospect, Deke should have predicted how that night would turn out.

It had started out harmless enough. Fitzsimmons deserved to have a night to themselves, after six years of non-stop saving the world, then three years of  _ more _ worrying about saving the world, then five months of helping their team get settled and comfortable in a new town, all the while caring for their brand-new child all by themselves. 

They deserved to have a date night, and by gosh, Deke wasn’t going to deny them that.

“Sure, I can,” he said a little too enthusiastically, trying to hold his very thin phone on his ear, with his shoulder. “Tomorrow night? What time?”

“Can you be here by four?” Jemma asked. Deke heard screaming in the background, but brushed it off. Nothing to worry about. Celeste never cried when her uncle Deke was around. 

He set down the screwdriver and grabbed the phone, flexing his neck. Someone should invent phones that strapped to your head . . . 

“Yeah, four. I can do four.” He scrambled to his feet again and rummaged through a drawer with his free hand.

“I’m so sorry it’s last-minute,” his grandmother said. “I’d ask Daisy or Yo-Yo, but they have those tickets to the concert, and Mack is so busy at the shop—”

Deke dropped the roll of wire with a  _ clang  _ and scrambled to catch it. “It’s fine, Nana. You guys just go . . . have fun . . .  Cece and I will be great.”

**

He and  Cece were not great.

Deke had never known that kids had a sixth sense . . . specifically to tell when their parents were getting ready to leave the house. 

As he walked up to the porch, he was met with the hysterical screeches of a way-too-smart four-year-old who just  _ knew _ something was wrong. 

“Look, Cece—” Fitz said as Deke crept through the door. “There’s your Uncle Deke. How about you let him hold you for a bit?”

But the girl just wailed louder, clinging to her father’s shoulders with superhuman force and pressing her wet, snotty face against Fitz’s neck. 

Deke’s eyes bugged out a bit, and Fitz pinned him down with a long-suffering glare. 

“Ah, Deke!” Jemma called from the kitchen doorway. Her obligatory smile was pasted onto her face, and she had a small blue stain on the right shoulder of her otherwise-perfectly white, slightly rumpled blouse. “Come in here, I made dinner for you two—”

As she rambled on, explaining how to heat up the rice and chicken, where to find  Cece’s favorite book, what time to put her to bed, and where the emergency phone numbers were, Deke felt a weight settle in his gut. 

What on this great green earth had he gotten himself into? This was way,  _ way _ beyond him. Sure, he had spent lots of time with his little niece (aunt? mother?), but always with someone more experienced, and more—uh . . . —emotionally available. His amount of babysitting experience could be tallied up to a solid zero.

He was going to need backup.

**

**_ 4:38pm _ **

“I’ve never babysat before!”

Deke tried to drown out the pitiful whimpers  Cece was still emitting as he held her up with one arm (which was quickly going numb) and gripped his cell phone with the other hand. 

“Yeah, me neither!” he retorted. “I just need some extra . . .” he fumbled for the word— “. . . man-power. Emotional support. I don’t know.”

“For yourself, or for her?” Sousa replied.

Deke mumbled something incoherent, imagining his friend’s smug grin and instantly wanting to punch it off his face. “Just . . . Please?”

“Okay.” Daniel finally gave in. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Sweet! Boy’s night in,” Deke exclaimed, but Sousa had already hung up. 

*

_ Okay, _ he tried to talk himself through the steps Jemma had laid out for him. Reading, drawing, playtime, dinner, bed. Easy enough, right? 

Reading . . . reading. What book did she say  Cece liked?

The girl was still shaking, hiccupping, and releasing rivers of tears and snot onto Deke’s shoulder. 

“Okay . . .” he said, walking in a careful circle to peruse the room. “Where’s your book? The one your dad reads with you?”

Cece looked up, her red-rimmed eyes shining with tears. “Cosmos,” she said wearily, laying her cheek on Deke’s shoulder again. “Dad read-es about the u-ni-verse.” 

Of course. “Sounds like fun,” he muttered. He scanned the bookshelf, but didn’t see any space-themed books. There was only math, rockets, and some gross-looking book about bird anatomy. Honestly, he had expected absolutely nothing less from the Fitz-Simmons household.

Why hadn’t he paid closer attention to Jemma’s instructions?

He suddenly noticed . . . nothing.  Cece had become silent. Finally.

Deke breathed a sigh. “Are you done crying?” he asked quietly, still perusing the many, many bookshelves in the house.

The little girl raised her head, stared him directly in the eye . . . and sneezed. 

**

**_ 4:56pm _ **

When Sousa walked through the door twelve minutes later, Deke was still violently scrubbing his face under the sink. 

A bottle of soap lay on its side on the counter, dripping straight onto the floor, and a river of water had formed where Deke’s left hand rested on the sink, his right clutching a sponge. (Sousa hoped beyond hope that it wasn’t the kitchen sponge.)

He cleared his throat loudly, and Deke’s head flew upwards, crashing into the faucet on the way up. 

“ _ Sh _ _ \--  _ oot ,” Deke almost swore, clutching the back of his head. He caught his friend’s eye, and Daniel had to gather every ounce of  self-control he possessed to not laugh outright. 

One side of Deke’s hair was plastered to his scalp, still soaking wet, and the other was covered in thick, white soap suds. His face shone bright red. 

Fighting to keep a straight face, Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure we’re babysitting Celeste, and not—” he gestured at Deke, “—you?”

Deke’s mouth hung open, and his eyes grew as large as a dinner plate. “Oh my god, Cece,” he muttered, scrambling away from the counter, legs lunging forward—

It happened in slow motion. 

Daniel watched, helpless, as the younger man flailed his arms . . . one foot flew forward, sliding on the spilled soap . . . the other was unable to catch his fall . . . 

And before he could blink, Deke was  lying face-up on the kitchen floor, covered head to toe in soap and water, the air knocked straight out of his lungs. “My . . . butt . . .” he groaned, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. 

Daniel lurched forward, extending a hand, but Deke didn’t even have a chance to grab it. Daniel finally broke, and the laughter escaped his chest . . . and wouldn’t stop. He leaned heavily against the counter, hand still extended, the other arm thrown across his stomach as he all but collapsed, unable to control his wheezing laughter.

A little giggle joined Daniel’s breathless guffaws, and  Cece’s blonde head poked around the doorframe. She had a tiny hand clasped to her mouth and her still-red eyes sparkled with joy. 

**

**_ 5:43pm _ **

“Sam I am! Sam I am! Green eggs ‘n ham!”

Deke slumped on the couch, his back stretched sideways to give his tailbone some relief. “How do we turn her off?”

Daniel shrugged. “You’re the one babysitting.”

After her fifty-second lap around the living room, Celeste finally ( _ finally _ ) collapsed onto the carpet with a sigh, still murmuring, “Do not like ‘dem, Sam, Sam, Sam I am . . .” 

“I really don’t think you should have read her that book,” Deke groaned. 

“ Cece ,” Daniel attempted, “how about one more, different book before we eat dinner?”

The girl raised her head and fixed her uncle with a bright, heart-melting smile. “No thanks.”

Deke chimed in, “How about some math to relax?”

At that, Celeste jumped back up and ran for her whiteboard. 

Fixing Deke with an incredulous look, Daniel said, “Math?”

“Aren’t you friends with Fitzsimmons? I thought you’d know them by now.” Deke laughed. “They’ve been teaching her math since before she could talk. She can do geometry.”

Daniel nearly had to pick his jaw up from the floor. “She’s four!”

“Jemma was doing integrals when she was seven. And she’s not the one with a math degree.” Deke propped himself up on an elbow and slowly leaned to the other side. His tailbone was on fire, but he had been through worse.  _ Nope, just kidding, _ he said to himself and slumped sideways again.

**

**_ 6:23pm _ **

“I don’t like peas,”  Cece said matter-of-factly.

Daniel fixed her with the firmest stare he could manage, attempting in vain to ignore her sparkling blue eyes and adorable, dimpled cheeks. She grinned and batted her eyelashes. 

This girl knew how to wrap herself around her uncle’s little finger. 

“You really should eat them,” he encouraged. “Your mom made them . . .” he glanced down at the green, slightly-overcooked mush on her plate— “. . . extra special.”

Still, she sat, arms crossed and unmoving. 

_ Why, why did Fitzsimmons both have to be so stubborn, then go and create someone doubly stubborn? _

Daniel sighed and glanced out to the living room, where Deke still sat, leaning across the couch, tapping away on that darned metal and glass brick of his. 

Daisy had tried to get Sousa to use a smartphone, and he really had given it his best shot, and even enjoyed it for a while . . . until he learned about Google. They had been talking casually about buying an old motorcycle from the nearby town and having Mack show them how to properly fix it up. Then, the next day, Daniel had been reading up on some articles he had bravely searched for, when lo and behold . . . there sat an advertisement for the exact make and model of the bike they’d been talking about, out of nowhere, without him even typing the name into the phone.

Daisy didn’t seem fazed (called it  _ cookies _ or  _ voice recognition  _ or something of the sort), but Daniel had taken the phone, pried open the casing, removed the battery, and stashed the thing in his sock drawer. Daisy had laughed quietly, and the next day she showed up with something called a flip-phone, which she promised (multiple times) couldn’t listen to him, or even access the internet. 

“At least finish your chicken,” Daniel pleaded with the little girl, who didn’t move but still stared at him out the corner of her eye. 

Sousa looked over at Deke again, who also hadn’t moved. Surely, he knew how to get a child to eat dinner? . . . Daniel suddenly had a thousand times more respect for all the parents of the world. 

If a four-year-old could complete advanced geometry problems, couldn’t she understand simple instructions like “eat” and “sit down” and “don’t run too fast down those stairs, because if you get hurt your parents will kill me?”

All of a sudden,  Cece scrambled up and tried to make a mad dash for the dining room door. But Daniel had the advantage, as she had to swerve around his chair to make it. He lunged backwards, silently thanked Jemma for choosing low-backed dining chairs, and caught the girl mid-sprint. She screamed as he hauled her back to her seat. 

“Listen, young lady—” ( _ young lady? _ He sounded like his mother.) “—You are going to sit here and eat the rest of your food. Or I’m telling your parents.” (Really? That was low.)

But it seemed to work. Key word:  _ seemed. _

Celeste grabbed her fork, stabbed a tiny piece of chicken . . . and the next thing Daniel knew, she was sprinting through the kitchen, straight toward Deke.

**

**_ 6:58pm _ **

“How long does one date night take?” Deke asked, looking slightly more forlorn as the evening passed. “Also, I forgot what time she goes to bed.”

He looked more-or-less relaxed on the floor, laying on his back,  Cece perched on top of his stomach with a book in her hands. 

Daniel slouched on the sofa, still catching his breath from playing tag outside in the very large front lawn, in an attempt to tire the girl out. Of course, he should have known it would backfire. He always forgot just how much energy one tiny human contained. 

“What’s  a _ alien?”  _ Cece asked, not looking up from her book.

Deke rubbed his eyes and tried to prop himself up on his elbows. “Uh, what kind?”

She held the book right in front of his eyes, and he pushed it away to focus . . . then paused. 

That picture was not what he expected.

He hadn’t given any thought to the title of the book she read; he just noticed how small it was. But now . . . his breath caught in his throat. 

On the page she showed him was a picture of Enoch. He was standing next to a very disgruntled Fitz, his ever-stoic expression a sharp contrast to the cheery lighting and cluttered surroundings. Underneath the photo, in scrawled, messy handwriting, stood the words, “Enoch. The least alien of most aliens.”

“Um,” Deke answered, “it just means someone who . . . doesn’t belong.”

Celeste looked at him, then back down at the photo. Her little eyebrows drew together, puzzled. “But . . .” she began, trying to make sense of what he said. “But Enoch be-long-d. Enoch is family.”

Deke swallowed. “Right. Family . . .” He gently took the book from  Cece’s hands and made her scoot over so they could look at it together. Daniel peered over his shoulder from his spot on the couch.

There were only about twenty pages in that scrapbook, and Deke didn’t recognize any of the photos. Most of them were of Fitz, who either looked annoyed or joyful, never in-between. There were a handful of Enoch, and the other few . . . featured Jemma. But not how Deke knew her. She had cut her bangs, like she did all those years ago, and she sported a very large, very obvious baby bump. 

And she was always grinning ear-to-ear. 

“Are there any more of these . . . scrapbooks?” Deke asked.

**

**_ 10:34pm _ **

“No, time doesn’t work that way—” 

“Oh, please. We’ve been through this long enough. You  _ know _ there’s a multiverse—”

“And every movie we ever watch gets it all—”

“Can’t even enjoy anything anymore because you just—”

Jemma stopped. She smiled and put a finger to her mouth.

Fitz leaned around her and stepped up through the door. 

In front of them, Deke let out long, machine-like snores. He was curled up like a baby at the base of the couch, hand buried in the soft shag carpet, and his head resting on a pile of their scrapbooks. On the couch sat Sousa, who had his legs up on the little coffee table, his head leaning off the back of the couch. 

And nestling in the crook of Daniel’s arm, legs tucked up to her chest, head settled comfortably on her uncle’s stomach . . . was Celeste.

Jemma smiled at the sight, her heart about to burst, and she watched Fitz almost roll his eyes . . . but he thought better of it. She quietly pulled out her phone and snapped the most adorable picture yet. 

They would hate her for it, but that photo would go in every scrapbook from then on. She would make sure of it.

. 

.


End file.
